


It Is Here That We Break

by deervsheadlights



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Omega Tony Stark, Post-Break Up, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:09:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27895843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deervsheadlights/pseuds/deervsheadlights
Summary: Tony thinks he broke in Siberia, but it's later in the hospital that he learns the finishing blow has been dealt all of two weeks ago.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 57
Kudos: 294





	1. before

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally part of a longer fic that i wrote and scrapped two years ago because i felt eh about it. there's no reason to withhold the decent bits though, so here you go. 
> 
> also, your bitch watched ca:cw again yesterday after a very long hiatus, and That One Scene of rdj in the vest always gives me pause because ah. so much food. deliver me
> 
> still no idea what the timeline on the movie is, but for the sake of this thing let's say the events stretched over multiple weeks.

He doesn't know, not in Siberia.

Not in those moments he's bruised and beaten and the man he would give his life for fixing haunted eyes on him as if he's contemplated taking it without a thought just then.

The memories sweep him up in a rush of ice water as he blinks himself awake, and the only grounding sensation that keeps him away from the bunker and tied to this bed is Pepper sitting by his bedside and squeezing his hand. 

Her make-up is spotless but her eyes are wet, and it occurs to him that she might be holding onto him just as much as she’s trying to comfort him with her touch.

She smiles when she tells him, small and wobbly, and something in his chest hurts in a way that has nothing at all and yet everything to do with the crushed bone there. Steve is the link that holds what should be a self-contradictory statement together, and this moment should’ve been something beautiful, something that Tony imagined would be met with an ear-to-ear smile and an exhilarated laugh–but everything that comes to mind now is his face, bloodied and cruel when he brought the shield down on Tony.

On the two of them, because Tony isn’t alone in his body anymore. Hasn't been for a while. 

It's a different pain altogether, realizing this something he's ached for so fiercely but never thought he'd get is tainted by betrayal now.

Two weeks.

There's only one time he and Steve had gotten intimate while the whole mess with the Accords was going down and so there’s no doubt when it happened.

It’s funny, because he wasn’t even in heat then. Couldn’t have been, not yet anyway. A few days more and he would’ve been able to tell, but even if it had been closer–the chances of them conceiving should’ve been virtually non-existent. Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve. Even when the odds are in _his_ favor for a change, Tony somehow manages to do the impossible and turn the tides.

Tony remembers vividly: asking him to sign, one last time. Presenting him with Howard's pen. A peace offering, an olive branch. One last chance to resolve the mess they’d created in a civilised manner.

Steve refused and Tony had expected that, he _did_ , and even the harsh words that accompanied the rejection came as anything but a surprise. They were both strung taut, restless energy thrumming under skin, anger and fear and helplessness making for an explosive cocktail.

The knowledge of what would happen should they not find common ground soon weighed heavily on their minds, but with neither of them able or willing to offer a compromise, they channeled the frustration into something else entirely. And although it belonged neither into this moment nor into this room and wouldn’t end their debate as much as it would just put off the inevitable–Tony gave in, as he so often did when it came to Steve.

“Walls, FRIDAY,” he said, feeling Steve’s heated gaze follow him as he stood and circled the table. His A.I. wormed her way into the building’s systems in a moment and cranked up the opacity of what before had been transparent glass panels–not a moment too soon, because the second Steve picked up on the lock on the door snapping close, he all but lunged for Tony.

It was rough, frantic and without doubt more about creating an outlet for their feelings and frustrations than it was about the sex. Tony ended up bent over the conference table, fingernails scraping over the surface and scrambling for purchase while Steve shoved him up against it.

The pen clattered to the floor after the table shook with a particularly hard thrust. Neither of them paid it any mind. Tony moaned, one of those lewd, keen sounds he knew Steve adored. He tried to spread his legs wider just to get that extra inch inside of him, the attempt thwarted by his pants pooling at his feet.

Steve's hand released the bruising grip on his hip to cover Tony's smaller one that was flattened to the table. He still wore the wedding ring on his fourth finger, titanium gleaming in the harsh light like a promise doomed to be broken. Tony had taken his own off days ago, a spur of the moment decision during a particularly vocal screaming match of theirs. A decision he came to regret but didn’t know how to undo.

There wasn’t much feeling in the act itself. They both were afraid what it would turn into if they let emotions surface. Tony preferred it like this: quick and desperate, something they both needed, one of the rare occasions they found themselves on the same page these days. Before the matter took a turn for the worse, before Lagos, they'd been with each other anytime their cramped schedules allowed for it–after going close to three weeks without, neither of them was too proud to deny themselves.

When Steve came close, his movements grew erratic. Not entirely uncoordinated, but rougher, chasing his own release. He bit down on Tony's neck, pressing his front flush against Tony's back, scenting him.

Tony thought that would be it. They’d finish, Steve would (reluctantly) pull out before the knot could take, he’d brush the creases out of his crumpled Tom Ford and pretend that would be enough to preserve his dignity when he walked out the door with wet stains in telltale places, smelling of sex and slick and Steve.

Steve, having found yet another rule he determined fit to be broken, couldn’t keep up the pretense they had silently come into agreement about. In those moments before the final wave of pleasure swept them up in short-lived oblivion, the emotions they’d so expertly shoved aside returned with a vengeance.

"I can't lose you," Steve rasped, seconds away from coming undone inside Tony, breath hot against his skin. "Not you, Tony. Oh _God,_ not you."

"You won't, you won’t," Tony cried out, unthinking, not knowing his promise would turn out a lie.

Lies, Tony thinks now, have never been in short supply between the two of them.

And with a glance at his still-flat stomach under the hospital gown and grief breaking out of him with violent sobs, he knows this much: There will be plenty more to come.


	2. during

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i gave in and decided to turn this into an actual thing.

He can’t do this.

But he can’t _not_ do it either, doesn’t even want to entertain the thought for too long, so there’s no options left except going at it the true Stark way: ignorance, insomnia and inventing binges. 

As soon as he's fit enough to walk at a speed that doesn't insult his dignity, he escapes the hospital with a cracked sternum, broken ribs and a limp and has FRIDAY do an extensive scan in the lab.

Ultrasounds, Tony realizes, are outdated.

Come next week, his to-do list is stuffed to the brink with projects and his head spinning with dozens of concepts not yet written down. Once he discovers the extent of obsolete technology in this field he’s just touched on, he can't bring himself to stop. And if it's an escape from the event that triggered it all, well. He's had worse coping mechanisms in his time. 

Against all odds and to his friend's evident astonishment, he listens to Pepper and brings in a team of professionals to advise him. Tony pretends to contemplate his options, but there’s no real decision to be made. He doesn’t need Steve for this. It’s the 21st century, people do the pregnant-and-single thing all the time. How hard can it be?

(Very.)

He hurts with it in the long nights, in the rare moments there’s nothing to drown out the silence of his home and the noise in his mind. There comes the time he can’t bear it any longer: he slips into Steve’s old office and looks at his shield leaning there and rips open the letter he’s abandoned in the desk drawer. He can barely _breathe_ , first through the tears and then hysterical laughter, because here he is, alone and miserable and _not alone oh God_ , and everything he gets is this half-assed fucking excuse of a non-apology. 

The thing is, though: he hasn’t really been able to breathe since that one memorable occasion his own bomb blew up in his face. These last years with Steve made it easier, somehow, breathing with two thirds of a lung, but the weight that has settled over his bruised ribcage again is a familiar one. He hasn't forgotten. He can deal with it. 

Tony chucks the flip phone back into the drawer and leaves. Yeah, letting one absentee father dictate his life was enough. He’ll keep it. Her. Him. Them. (Dear God, don't make it twins.)

For the moment, he makes himself swallow the panic simmering beneath the surface and moves on. 

Tony uses a pseudonym to forward the schematics he designed in his prenatal engineering frenzy to a trustworthy company. Then he goes back to working on the suit, Rhodey’s prosthetics, an OS overhaul for all recent StarkPad models and everything else that isn’t directly or indirectly linked to the clump of cells growing in his womb.

Surprisingly enough, it takes the rest of the compound longer to catch on than anticipated. Most of them are Fury’s lot after all, so Tony expected to be found out sooner. 

When they do, word gets around spreading like a bushfire. He's akin to the dirty secret whispered behind lockers in high school corridors and it gets increasingly difficult to ignore how everyone's trying with all their might not to notice when he slips past them in the hallways.

Nobody asks and Tony doesn't tell. There's no use in hiding but he isn't going to shout it from the rooftops either, and so the matter goes unaddressed, hanging heavily over the compound like a storm cloud ready to erupt at any given moment. 

And erupt it does, because Ross gets wind of it. Tony is almost alarmingly calm when they request a meeting. It’s only ever been a matter of time, and he’s been reeking of _Eau de knocked up_ for a while now.

When Tony enters the otherwise empty conference room, the man’s standing at the window with his back to the entrance, muttering to himself. The moment the door falls close behind him, Ross turns. It seems almost Pavlovian, how his expression darkens as they come face to face. 

The vein on his forehead, on a scale of ‘visibly protruding’ to ‘potentially explosive’ appears to have reached the upper third of that very spectrum, and Tony mentally prepares to take a few hits to his dignity to avoid escalating the situation.

“This? Now?”

Tony bites the inside of his cheek, forcing himself not to fall for the derisive tone.

“Not like I planned it,” he shrugs.

The man snorts. “Why, Stark, isn’t that grand? America’s most wanted bun in the oven, but I suppose it was an accident so we’ll just have to give him a pass, won’t we?”

He throws his arms up in anger, and Tony just about resists the instinctive urge to flinch back and cross his arms over his stomach as a safety precaution. God, this pregnancy thing is fucking with his image.

“Alright, I don’t need to listen to this. If this gets out, it’ll reflect badly on everyone here, the press can’t know, I have the worst timing, you're the hero who cleans up everyone's mess. That check about everything on your list? Hell, I’ll disappear for a few months if I have to. Thinking about it, yeah. I’m going to walk out on you, and then you can tell me all about how that worked out for–“

“ _Stark_.”

There’s the hint of a growl in his voice and Tony falls silent within an instant. Loathing prickles underneath his skin, scorching hot. If there’s one thing he’s sworn to himself he'd never do, it’s shut his mouth at some old bastard’s command who thinks the α on his birth certificate puts him above Tony by default.

Flinching and curling away from a perceived threat is a humiliating instinct to succumb to. Shameful. Enough for his neck to burn hot and Ross to pick up on it. Which is worse.

Tony didn’t choose to work with (or, heaven forbid, for) this man, but it’s not like he has any say in the matter. Tony has chosen the Accords. He has not–and this can’t be stressed enough–chosen Ross to keep them in check. The guy’s a necessary evil, all but unaware of this title Tony has not-so secretly ascribed to him and he uses every opportunity to act the part.

“Here’s how this is going to go,” Ross says and takes a few purposeful steps in his direction. It’s supposed to rile him up; the bitter tang of Tony’s shame still hangs in the air and this asshole's having a field day over his slip-up.

“You’ll keep to the compound for the next–however long this,” he gestures at Tony’s stomach in a way that communicates about the same amount of goodwill as the word whore, “is going to last. You get Hill and have someone write up NDAs for everyone stationed in this facility. And for the love of God, stop running around like this. We don’t need an outsider coming in here and accidentally catching a whiff of you.”

He pauses, regarding Tony with that one scowl he inevitably defaults to whenever they come face to face. Tony drops his arms to his sides, only now noticing he's been hugging himself, and sighs in exasperation. “Are we done?”

Ross seems to consider this for a moment, but eventually nods and waves him off with a dismissive gesture. When Tony’s in the process of pushing the door open, the man speaks up again, making him freeze in the doorway.

“And, Stark?”

He holds off for a beat or two. It’s deliberate and unnecessary and Tony despises him for it.

“ _If_ this gets out, the child can’t be Rogers’.”

Tony swallows around the lump of tears forming in his throat. 

He’s too busy blinking away the blur in his eyes to be self-conscious about the speed with which he flees the scene.


	3. during II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm pleasantly surprised about how well this is being received. just a fair warning that the last two additions might take a while longer because i'll write them from scratch to stay (somewhat lol) in line with canon.

FRIDAY’s most recent scan tells him it's a girl.

He starts thinking about nurseries, cribs, nests, rompers and pacifiers–all in reds and golds, because yes, he's indeed that petty.

Time flies by, Tony muses, when you’re constantly scrambling not to lose your grip on the last thread that holds you–your sanity, your sense of self, your everything–together.

On his 46th birthday, they all sit together in the common room down in the Avengers' quarters at the compound. Most of the rooms are empty these days, untouched and unchanged but cleaned weekly in the unlikely case one of their original inhabitants resurfaces. Tony doesn’t want to be thinking about that, not today, but he’s never been a role model when it comes to keeping promises to himself.

Rhodey, Pepper, Peter, Happy. Vision should’ve been here, but he disappeared again just yesterday and Tony doesn’t need three guesses to know where to. It’s not just Steve’s loyalty he’s had to reevaluate.

Tony doesn't want anything big and blames the change of attitude on hormones. Convincing everyone else of that is practically impossible, but he's too tired to be upset about his failed attempts at deception.

There's a party at the tower later at night and he's supposed to put in an appearance. _Just to let them know you're not avoiding public spaces,_ Pepper said. That's easy enough. The scent neutralizer makes him feel all sorts of gross, but he’ll have to put up with it one way or another. No way he can say ‘no’ after Pepper’s gone all out to get him some convincing fake booze to carry around a glass of for show.

He jokes with his friends, receives a shirt that says ‘Engineer at work’ with tools shaped into an arrow pointing down to his stomach and puts on impeccable, convincing smiles for the entirety of the two hours he holds out at his public birthday bash.

At midnight, he returns back home, to quiet hallways and empty rooms, and before he realizes what he’s doing, his feet have carried him to Steve’s office once again. It’s a path he could walk effortlessly even in pitch darkness. Whatever that says about him. There’s no kidding himself: this room is still Steve’s, with all the little trinkets and pictures where he left them three months ago. 

One of the most notable ones is on the desk next to his old drawings. It’s a photograph of them on their second anniversary, courtesy of Bruce, who took it right there in the communal kitchen when they were too busy smiling at each other with mirth in their eyes and laughter on their lips to notice their audience. 

The good old days. 

The thought is accompanied by a scoff, but there’s no one around to hear him reprimand himself. It’s true to a degree–this was before Ultron, before Tony sowed the seeds of their destruction. But depending on how long Steve knew about his parents (and there’s not a doubt in his mind that it’s been years), it’s Steve who put down the soil to plant them in. And isn’t that an idea? It just needed a character like Zemo to complete the act: feed the saplings until the both of them were faced with the fruit of their labor, until their mistakes had grown to a size they could no longer turn a blind eye on. 

Tony should’ve left, then, but he’s never been one to listen to the _shoulds._ Instead, after battling with himself and finding his self-control sorely lacking, he fumbles for the phone in the second drawer from the top. He flips it open and discovers–because of course he should be that lucky–an unread message blinking at him from the notification bar. The rational thing to do would be to delete it, or maybe throw the whole phone across the room and hope it breaks (which is a distant hope at best, these things are bricks) but he finds himself frozen and his breath catching in his throat. 

_If you need me, I’ll be there._

Tony does need. More than ever, he needs, and he thinks it might be his undoing no matter whether he acts upon it or not. Need and want are two words that have little in common, though, and damn him if he wants Steve here, after everything. He doesn’t. _He doesn’t._

To his credit, Tony neither reads nor does he pay any more attention to the message. He leaves it to rot in the inbox, unheard and unseen, because that’s the greatest act of defiance he’s capable of at the time being. But then again, he also pockets the phone instead of putting it back where it was, so maybe this is a point for Steve after all.

Hilarious, that thought. As if there are still sides, as if this thing hasn’t ruined the both of them. _In equal measure,_ Tony doesn’t think, because Steve gets to play vigilante on the other side of the ocean while he’s here ~~not~~ playing happy family with this little human the man who betrayed his trust put in him _,_ and those are nowhere near the same amount of fucked up.

If he carries the stupid flip phone everywhere from that point onward, stares at it like it holds the answers to the universe and wonders if the message was a perversely casual ‘Happy birthday’ or another dirt cheap apology, then that’s nobody’s business but his own.

Tony wishes he could say the same for the other ways the need expresses itself.

During the fourth month, he thinks he's going to die if nobody comes and fucks him into next week right then and there.

It's nothing like a heat. He's not running hot, he's not writhing in his sheets, sweating and soaking wet in more than one sense. He can be around people without stinking the whole room up. His scent changes, but only the alphas notice, and even Hill walks a little closer when she bumps into him in the hangar one afternoon.

FRI tells him it's something Os in general experience during pregnancy and not his sex-deprived mind suddenly demanding something large and phallic shaped up his ass. At the dawn of humankind, this hormonal change in an expecting omega's system served to ensure the continued survival of their offspring. A bonded omega would bind their alpha mate to them further, and an unbonded one would attract another A to protect and provide for them.

Now, with them having (to some degree) moved on from their primal roots, Tony gives mother nature the one-finger salute, buys a weighted blanket and takes his knotting dildo to bed. Because asking for sex isn't hard, but asking for someone to cuddle up behind him and put an arm around his swollen belly afterwards is the one thing Tony Stark is too much of a coward to do.

Not to mention that it wouldn’t work with just anyone else. That much he’s forced to admit when he finally gives up on trying to imagine anyone but Steve being with him after the first two attempts have brought him nowhere near relief.

It lasts for the rest of the month, varying in intensity.

Rhodey notices, and offers cuddles (more than usual). Tony accepts (more than usual). Pepper, in a way of solidarity, offers as well, although she seems mystified about the concept, what with her being a beta and not partaking in the more odd aspects of the other two dynamics. In spite of all this, she’s always made an effort to put up with his moods and that’s more than Tony can ask for.

Apart from the humiliatingly obvious and near constant _want,_ he’s a little jumpy, a little more on edge than usual. His very nature despises him for not seeking a new bondmate to guard and care for little Antonia–he has yet to come up with an actual name–in him. Tony refuses to let it discourage him. His biology wants someone else to care for him? Tough fucking luck, because he hasn’t stopped being Iron Man, second trimester or no, and he's got the best protection there is right at his fingertips.

At the end of the day, when he crawls into bed and grows evermore distressed with the fading scent in the pillow, safety is only a small comfort. His body certainly doesn't care, but he'll take everything he can get.

Tony still drifts off hugging himself tightly with a fake knot as deep as it'll go, but the knowledge that he has, in fact, taken every measure to protect this fragile life within him makes falling asleep just that little bit easier.


	4. during III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did indeed fuck around with the civil war/infinity war timeline just to milk this for the maximum amount of angst.
> 
> remember when thanos gave tony the ol' stabby-stabby? like, in the abdominal area? yeah... sorry.

He's well within his fifth month when he starts showing. Showing as in, he can no longer rely on expertly tailored suits and other attire to mask the too obvious baby bump.

It’s surprising and uncommon, apparently. That he isn’t bigger yet. They say denial plays a part and Tony’s always been good at that, hasn’t he? (Denying the truth, denying himself, denying what's right there in front of him.) 

Tony keeps hiding and goes on a much-needed vacation to one of his numerous private islands. At least that's what his wonder-working PR team makes the public believe.

As much as he’d like to, he can’t afford to disappear. Between the government, SHIELD and the Avengers, there’s no way he’ll be taking any time out soon unless he wants Ross and Fury joining forces to track him down. The thought alone is nightmare fuel enough.

Tony can't say he minds the relative calm or the excuse to skip all those SI meetings and press conferences. He spends most days around the compound, in the workshop and in bed, which is all about him feeling dead on his feet a lot of the time and has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he can still smell the faintest trace of Steve’s scent in the pillowcase.

Lying to himself seems like an infallible strategy until a particularly bad day comes along. Nine o'clock sees him almost getting caught by an unannounced visitor, which leaves him twitchy and irritable for the rest of the day. Pair that with swollen ankles, mounting back pain and a sudden migraine, and Tony is almost proud he makes it into bed instead of laying down on the floor somewhere and succumbing to fate. 

It’s then, when he buries his nose in Steve’s old shirts and pretends it isn’t his own hand resting over his belly, that he finally feels her kick for the first time.

Strange, to have the thought of _‘I hate you for doing this to me’_ right alongside _‘I wish you were here’._

Five months bleed into six. 

_Two thirds of the way,_ he realizes with a jolt, staring up at the off-white ceiling in his obstetrician's office during the exam. It shouldn’t be much of a revelation–his body, his friends and the young omega woman currently prodding him can testify that he’s lived every single one of those twenty-five weeks–and yet the realization is accompanied by no small amount of disbelief. 

Doesn’t quite feel like six months when the pain in his sternum is the same as it was when the bone there was still cracked. Figures. You can’t put an expiration date on betrayal.

Doc Lee emphasizes again how strong and healthy his baby is, squeezes his shoulder wordlessly when she catches his half-hearted smile and sends him off with a prescription to help with the headaches.

Eventually, Pepper notices that being cooped up for months on end is beginning to take a toll on him, so she takes him out for a walk some way from the compound. Tony drowns himself in baggy clothes, an oversized hat and scent neutralizer just to be sure–and it’s more inconvenient than one would think but certainly worth it.  
  
The fresh, midsummer breeze is perfect, the sun high on the cloudless sky and the temperatures bearable.

A wizard steps out of a glowing portal and Tony thinks that maybe he should’ve stayed inside.

On the other side of the portal, he sees Bruce–who brings with him the tale of a Mad Titan and the promise that this is the endgame. 

Tony can’t even crow ‘I told you so’ because the fear lodged in his airway threatens to choke him. Instead, with one trembling hand fumbling for the phone in his pocket and the other instinctively cradling his stomach, he prepares for what’s to come. He struggles to open the one single contact the phone came with, the simple task exacerbated by the sweat coating his palms, the unread message flashing at him and the prospect of imminent doom. 

A minute could’ve changed everything, he’ll think later. 

As it is, an ominous wind blows through the sanctum and the changing atmosphere pulls them out onto the street. Tony hands the phone to Bruce and goes to investigate. He and Steve, they've always picked the worst possible times. What’s one more missed chance?

It may go against his every instinct as a mother and every last notion of common sense within him but he knows deep down: he can't sit this one out. Even if by some miracle, he could turn his back on the situation and let the others handle it, the chances that there wouldn’t be anything left by the end but ash and dust are too high. That’s too grim a world to raise a child in.

Pepper eyed him with tangible disapprovement when he first donned the new arc reactor, which Tony thinks is unreasonable because personal safety doesn’t get any better than this. The nanites expand where his current condition calls for it and reinforce the Mark 50 around the spine and lower body without giving up crucial amounts of manoeuvrability. 

A woman gets crushed underneath an airborne car, so he gives knockoff squidward a taste of his own medicine. Peter decides to take a ride on the alien ship, so Tony follows. They meet a guy from Missouri who calls himself _Star Lord_ and a ragtag group of equally irritating aliens. Strange says, “one way”, and nobody would've backed out anyway, but this seals the deal. 

The lot of them shouldn't be a match for Thanos and they're not, but for a moment... Tony gets his hopes up. And he should know by now that that is a fatal mistake. 

They're so close to succeeding, so close to walking away from this planet as one–but no plan can account for blind rage. (Tony thinks he's heard that one before.)

Tony fights with everything he has, wounds a titan, and still loses. He takes a moon and the power of four Infinity Stones, but it's his own ingenuity that does him in. 

The glide is so smooth–flawlessly engineered by none other than himself–Tony barely feels the blade until it comes out the other side. 


End file.
